


it makes us brave again

by solsix



Series: and so we just hold on [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Character, Cake, Depression, Disability, Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Bucky Barnes, Past Abuse, Past Suicide Attempt, Sex Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-07 10:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8797894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solsix/pseuds/solsix
Summary: Kind, caring, gentle Sam, who’s never been anything but an absolute gentleman to him. Sam who held him for two hours after a nightmare, and who tells him stupid jokes to make him laugh when his smile so much as falters. [...] Sam who tells him that it’s okay, and that they can go as slow as he needs, and that he just wants to understand.
A quiet day where James is cared about a lot, has frank talks with Natasha, eats way too much cake, and realises that he has to be honest with Sam. Honestly, he's really never going to eat cake again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a little part in the series where i wanted to see james' point of view, and to answer some questions that haven't been answered yet. it's a bit heavier angst-wise than the other two but i tried to keep it light. still, be careful of the tags!
> 
> title is from _the projectionist_ by sleeping at last.

If James were to say that he wakes up without drool running down his face, his hair not half way to strangling the life out of him, and without his usual morning boner, than he would be completely lying. He can feel his hair tugging as he tries to turn and brings a hand up quickly, yanking the strands free from his own body before settling back down into the once clean, fluffy pillows. True to form, the side of his neck is damp and sticky from his saliva and he’s more than just a little excited, James sighing softly and thanking god that no one is around to catch the ungodly sight right now. Last week when he woke up with his drool running down Sam's chest, he thought his own head was going to implode from the heat of it. Mortified wasn’t the word he needed right then. Luckily, Sam had just teased him for a few minutes and then helped out with his other little morning problem, the two of them coming together before the sun was even properly up. Not today though, today is just the constant dripping from his leaky tap, the sound of Elphie snoring contently, and the feeling that-

"Don't you _dare_ start jacking off." James' hand flies back upwards and he shoots upright on the bed, his back popping several times and a pain shooting from his wrist to his elbow as soon as he uses it to support himself. "Morning, sunshine!”

"Steve," James lets out groggily, and this time he can only be thankful that the sheets are covering his modesty. Well, mostly; he's sure Steve might've got an eyeful of his ass...but that's what he gets for coming into his place anyway. His voice is rough and scratchy as he speaks, the young man struggling to get his bearings from being woken up so abruptly. He never has been great at being ready to go in the morning, even when he was supposed to be used to waking up early. “What're’ya doing here?"

Steve and Peggy never come into his place without asking first, even if James doesn't particularly care if they do or not. It's their house, after all. "I have your cell...must've left it downstairs last night," Steve says, and the floors creak as he steps over to the bed and drops it down by James' hip. "It beeped a couple times and then your alarm went off so I figured I better wake you." There's a pause and it's so quiet that James thinks Steve's disappeared, sitting still and waiting before, "Peg's making breakfast as well, so if you wanna come down it'll be ready in about fifteen minutes."

"Oh?" James nods and brings a hand up slowly, pushing his hair away from his face and rubbing at his eyes. He has his own stash of cereal in his kitchenette that he usually eats straight from the box, but he guesses have a good breakfast won’t do any harm either. In fact, he’d kill for some waffles right now. Maybe with syrup, or maybe just a waffle in one hand and a can of whipped cream in the other. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters, stifling a yawn behind his hand and continuing, “Great. Thanks. I'm just gonna shower and I'll be down."

"Yeah, you better deal with that situation down there," Steve replies automatically, and James can hear the smile - no, the shit eating grin - in his voice as the floorboards creak again when Steve makes his way out, "Nice ass, by the way." He follows it with a soft snort and James shakes his head, finally sliding himself to the edge of the bed and putting his feet down to get his bearings.

Almost immediately, the _click click click_ of claws on wood rings throughout the room and a wet nose is pressed against his leg, James grinning as he bends down and finds Elphie's head. She likes it most when he tickles between her ears. "Morning, baby girl," James greets, receiving a couple of licks to his fingers before the _click click click_ moves away again. _She's probably away downstairs_ , he thinks, simply because he knows that Peggy always gives her a little peanut butter in the morning. Sure enough, he hears Peggy greet her followed by Adam squealing at something and Grace shouting something about babies to Steve. He thinks about going down to see them before doing anything else, before his phone captures his attention and he opens up his unread messages from Sam. He runs his fingers over the words and the little robot voice reads it out to him: _“Hey, babe. I’m off today, and you’re off today. Wanna meet up and paint the town red? Winky face. P.S. You okay after last night? You know I’m always here to talk…sad face.“_

James giggles at the last words, simply because they’ve always sounded ridiculous to him. His heart sinks as he sighs and moves his fingers downwards, waiting until he’s in the right spot and finding the voice command key. “I wish I could,” he says to his phone, holding it just by his chest and rubbing his free hand over his chest, “But I’m going out with Nat for wedding stuff full stop sad face sad face…” He gets his little robot voice to repeat the words back and sighs. "And I'm fine," he adds on, even if it may not be entirely true, "Just a weird time of the year." _Understatement of the century_. He sends the message away with a sad huff and throws his phone back onto his pillows, hoping that Sam isn’t too bothered by the fact that it’s the first time in a while that their days off have coincided and James is busy with other plans. It’s too bad, really, but if he tries to cancel on Nat she might actually kill him. With her bare hands.

Standing up from the bed, the floor is cold and very much unwelcoming on his bare feet, the young man doing a half walk half skip to the bathroom in an effort to get there quicker. It's easy to make his way around his own apartment and the house in general, because he knows exactly where everything is, how long it takes to get where, and that no one is going to leave anything obtrusive in his path. Downstairs he's perhaps a little more careful, simply because kids aren't quite so bothered if they leave a colouring book or, heaven forbid, Lego blocks on the floor. He shoulders his way into his little bathroom and reaches his right hand up for the pully switch, giving it a yank down so light fills what little vision he has. He can't make much sense of it; he can only see some shapes that are dark enough to contrast but even then it's blurry and confusing. Sometimes it really is better if he just keeps his eyes closed.

He's humming one of the songs from that cute Disney movie he’d watched last night as he reaches for the box he keeps his medication in, trying first to figure out what they say from the little dots on their sides before he goes with how many elastics are wrapped around each bottle. He still hasn't managed to figure out Braille, no matter how much he's tried. "Nope," he mutters quietly to himself, passing over the bottle with just one band that signals just plain old Tylenol. It's definitely a "bottle two" kind of day, James finding the correct one and pouring out two of the little pills that give him more relief than Tylenol can. If he didn't have places to be, he'd really take his time getting up and about. Maybe he could've lay in bed a little longer, or maybe he could've listened to the end of the book from last night, or maybe he would've actually jerked off instead of letting the magic of morning pain do it's job.

Instead, he moves his hand out to the other side of him and pulls on the cord for the shower, the spray immediately splattering down into the basin at the bottom and heating up so steam begins to gather in seconds. He really needs to thank Steve properly for making sure he has a nice shower. Nothing is as nice as a hot, high-pressure shower after a long day, and he's thinking that it's not too bad first thing in the morning either as he steps in and holds onto the railing at the side. Four times he'd fallen over when he was getting used to the whole blind thing, not realising how much your balance goes when you can't see and you're shaking water away from your face. It was alright though, even if he’d broken two of his three fingers on his left hand and it was more of an inconvenience than he thought it would be.

It doesn't take James long to soap himself up and then rinse himself off, choosing to save his hair for another day simply because there's no way he'll be able to get it dry in time for leaving. In fact, he's probably already running late, rushing double time as he moves to his wardrobe and picks out some clothes for the day. He ends up picking his jeans from yesterday from the back of the sofa, a plain white t-shirt from the pile he knows is all white, and the softest sweater he owns that he had picked up on sale. It's a light grey, the woman at the store had said, and James has taken her word for it ever since. He's grabbing his pills again within a few minutes and gets his cane from the side, holding both things tightly as he makes his way downstairs with slow, careful steps.

He just needs to make it through today, and then it’ll be fine.

"Here's the quick change artist," Steve comments as soon as he steps into the kitchen, and James would throw him a middle finger if he could be sure that no kids are around. He heard Peggy mutter a cheery “ _good morning_!”, however, so she’s probably still busy with breakfast. He must say, it smells delicious…a mix of something sweet and the strong aroma of coffee from that handy machine Steve bought a few months ago.

"We don't all take three hours to get ready every morning," James comments, sitting down in his usual spot, placing his medication onto the table, and smirking, "I'm blind and have a near to useless arm, and yet I can still get dressed faster than you...can still do most things faster than you, to be fair."

"Hilarious," Steve retorts, playfully kicking James under the table and it's like they're at school all over again.

Steve has been his best friend since their very first day at elementary school. Steve was being pushed around by one of the bigger kids and James had rushed over all clenched fists and angry eyes to pull them away, until the both of them had landed in a heap on the floor with bloody lips and giant grins. It's a dog eat dog world, out on a school playground. Ever since they've been almost inseparable, going through everything from moving on into high school together, being shoved into lockers and gym room floors, to Steve losing his parents at seventeen and not knowing where to go or who he had until James had answered both of those questions. They had been with each other through sickness, from surviving The Great Food Poisoning of ’04 to the one time Steve’s already bad health took a turn for the worse and he’d spent two weeks in the intensive care unit. James really didn’t think he was going to have his best friend for much longer during that time.

And he knows he wouldn’t still be here if it weren’t for Steve. Steve was there through everything with him. He was there after the accident, and during his recovery, and afterwards when he was Not Good. God, he really put him through hell.

“Hey, you alright?” Steve asks softly, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor signalling that he’s stood up before there’s rummaging in the cutlery drawer. Something small brushes against his legs and he reaches down slowly to pat Elphie again, “You okay? I mean, you’re not…you gonna be okay?”

“Steve.” Peggy sounds exasperated as she stresses Steve’s name, James smiling softly and keeping his head down. His heart is hammering in his chest and he knows exactly why, swallowing down before standing up to get himself a drink. “ _What did I say?_ I said be subtle and don’t bring it up if James doesn’t!” There’s a sound that sounds awfully like she’s smacked Steve with a spatula. “Kids! Breakfast! Steve, check that the babies are alright, please.”

James can hear her plating up everything and the sound of more feet on the floor, quietly pouring his drink before a small body is slamming straight into his legs like a little bottle rocket. “Morning to you too, Adam,” he smirks, the little boy clinging onto him like a monkey as James walks back to his seat. He’s still on him as he sits down, James letting out a small grimace of pain as he picks him up and bounces him on his knee. It’s only when he remembers about his pills that he finds them on the table and pushes them away from curious fingers. He needs to take them with food, otherwise he’ll be knocked totally on his ass. “You’re getting big!”

“I’m three!” Adam squeals, James grinning and nodding along as he says in a broken language that’s been eating all of his “vegbills” and that his mama gives him “kurts” for snacks. James can only guess that he means those little baby carrots that Peggy tried to feed him once. If he's gonna have a snack, it's gonna be something better than carrots. That’s for sure.

“Adam, let Uncle Bucky eat in peace and come over here,” Steve orders, obviously back from his duties, but James shakes his head and simply adjusts his position so he can move a little more. He pushes his hair that he’s left loose around his face away from his mouth before he dares try to eat anything, wondering if maybe it’s best to tie it up considering he’s gonna be eating all day.

“Uncle Bucky.” James’ eyes raise at the mention of his name and he knows that it is Grace, trying to work out where she is before her hands appear on his right side as she sits next to him. “Are you going out with _Sam_ today?” She almost sings Sam’s name and James can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips, despite the fact that he can almost hear Peggy and Steve waiting on his answer with bated breaths. “Are you?”

James shakes his head and hears Steve let out a sound that’s awfully like a mouse being squashed. “I’m going out with Aunt Nat,” he replies, before Peggy whispers that his food is in front of him and that it’s his favourite. _Of course it is_ , he thinks, because what else would two of the most caring people in the world decide to make him today? “We’re going to eat some cake to see which one is best for marrying Uncle Clint."

"Mhm, for when I'm a flower girl." It's not a question, it's a surefire statement. No one is taking the title of flower girl from Gracie Rogers, that's for sure. "What about Sam? Will he be at the wedding?" Grace pauses but it's only to take a deep breath before she's rattling on again. "Daddy says that you like Sam a lot and that he makes you happy and that it's okay that you're two boys and that it's no different than a boy and a girl because you're two people who like each other. Daddy says that Sam is good to you even though he spilled your drink on you and looked at him funny, and that Sam is a nice man and that when he comes around we need to be on our best behaviour and not make a mess even though you're in your room. _Daddy says_ that we shouldn't go in if the door's shut because it might mean that you're busy with Sam.”

James chokes. He's halfway through taking his mix of medication with his breakfast (it's turns out to be his favourite French toast with fresh blueberries and real maple syrup from a little place outside Montreal) when those words fall from the little girl's mouth, and he full on chokes. His eyes water and a glass is pushed into his hand as Adam slides down from his knee and wriggles away, probably deciding that it isn't worth being in a death grip while his uncle splutters all over him. "What the f- what?!" James exclaims loudly as soon as he's able to speak again, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and catching his breath. If he could see Steve right now, he'd be shooting him a look that could kill. Steve starts to speak but James holds his hand up in front of him, guessing that Steve's opposite him like he usually is. "And what else has your daddy been saying?"

"That we need to be extra nice to you today in case you're sad and need more hugs," Grace comments, and James swears he almost melts into a puddle on the floor even though, again, he wants to get Steve in a headlock right about now. Before he can do anything though, little arms are being thrown around his neck and a wet, slightly disgusting (being covered in kiddie saliva is never gonna be cute) kiss is pressed to his cheek. “You’re all scratchy!”

“Yeah, Gracie,” James laughs, patting her arm as they stay wrapped around him and swallowing the piece of toast he’s in the middle of chewing. “Thank you, little lady.”

They eat in quiet for a few more minutes and James tries not to let himself think too much, instead popping the rest of his pills one by one until he’s on the last, everyday vitamin that his doctor says is meant to be good for him. James had joked around that maybe they’d help him see in the dark instead of during the day, to which the doctor had laughed way too hard for him to be genuinely amused. He knows that Steve and Peggy are probably watching him like a hawk, that they’re probably doing that little side eye, silent talking thing that they do, but he doesn’t really care. He’s Fine. Capital ‘F’, right as rain, fine. Fine.

He thanks Peggy when he’s done and receives another kiss on the cheek in return, quickly wiping the lipstick from his cheek before it has a chance to dry and stay there all day. They talk about nothing important as James waits around for Natasha to pick him up, mentioning how the weather has got colder in such a short space of time and how it’s going to be Christmas before they know it. It’s the kind of chat James usually saves for strangers when he’s trying to fill uncomfortable silences, but it’s what he’s going for right now considering he’s avoiding what’s probably wanting to burst out of the other two.

“M’just gonna get my things and head outside,” James says softly when Steve huffs beside him for the third time in the space of two minutes, “Nat’ll be here any second.”

He’s grabbing his phone and jacket in just a few moments and stuffing his feet into his shoes as Steve comes along to tell him to have a good day, and to call if he needs, and that he’ll be home if he wants to talk, and that maybe they can go out when he gets back. He can hear the sound of Nat’s car outside as well (he knew that she’d be early), and he knows it’s her because his phone did that strange two ring thing that she does to let him know she’s waiting. “Yeah, maybe,” James smiles, grabbing his cane again and moving to the front door. “I’ll let you know, Stevie.” He receives a pat on the back as he leaves the house, being careful of the few steps at the door and waiting for the sound of it closing behind him. It doesn’t come.

“Hey Nat,” he greets as soon as he thinks he’s close enough, his cane catching against something that’s not usually there so he can only assume that it’s Nat’s leg he’s just hit. “Sorry.”

“Not the first time,” Natasha says simply, and he hears her throw open the car door and lets her help him inside. He still hasn’t quite mastered cars yet, every one different so he keeps missing his footing and bumping his head and making a fool of himself when some people aren’t kind enough to lend him a hand. “Figured we’d just get a cab; I want to drink and I wouldn’t have trusted you to drive before let alone now.”

“Hilarious,” James snorts, settling into the back of the taxi and letting out a slow breath that he wasn’t entirely sure he’d been holding. He’s a little tense and it takes a minute for him to reach around for his belt, the panic rising in his chest when the car begins to move without the belt actually being clicked in yet. Natasha isn’t saying anything but her hands are batting his own out of the way, plugging the little metal latch into place before giving the driver her next direction.

They sit in silence for only a few more seconds before he hears Nat take in a deep breath, her arm nudging against his own perhaps a little too hard so a shooting pain rocks through him. “So,” she starts quickly, “How’s it going?

"Steve's nearing unbearable, Peggy made my favourite breakfast, and Gracie gave me a hug and a kiss," James reels off, giving a somewhat forced smile and rubbing the fingers off his right arm into the elbow joint of his left. "They'd wrap me in bubble wrap if they could." he jokes, before his smile falls and he lets out a gentle sigh, "I think they're scared that I'm going to try and kill myself again."

Natasha barely waits a second before speaking. “What? To mark the special occasion once more?” she asks, matter-of-factly and James can almost hear her roll her eyes. “It’s been a year since you mixed vodka with all the sleeping pills you could find, James, and two years since your were almost killed…it’s no wonder they’re a little on edge.” Natasha pauses for a second and seems to pop something into her mouth, before the strong smell of mint wafts throughout the cab. “I hate to tell you, James, but you weren’t the only one affected by everything, you know?”

That’s Natasha through and through: blunt and honest, yet with a little dark humour involved as well. “I _know_ that," James stresses, shaking his head with a heavy sigh, "I really put them through hell," he mutters quietly, having that thought for the second time that day and maybe hating himself a little. Just a bit. "And you, I guess."

"Yeah," Natasha points out, "You did."

He'd swallowed down two bottles of pills and chased them with a fancy, Russian vodka someone had given him as a get well present. He'd been saving it for something special. James can't remember the name of it, just that it burned going down and burned coming up and that all he could think about at the time was why the hell would you give someone in hospital a bottle of super strength alcohol as a gift. It wasn't a good time, definitely the lowest point in his life and he's definitely had his fair share. He can remember waking up in the hospital after it all, his head foggy and his arms feeling like lead and soft straps tied around his wrists because apparently he'd tried to escape when he woke up the first time. To this day, he still can't remember that part but it definitely sounds like something he would do. Steve had been there while Peggy had gone to get them coffee; he had held his left hand so tightly that it made pains shoot up his entire arm, but James didn't have the heart to tell him to stop.

"Hey." James is pulled from his thoughts and perks his head up as Natasha nudges him again, another small pain rocking through him but it's gone as quick as it came. "Don't go getting all mopey on me. I need you today."

"I'm not!" James exclaims loudly, even if, yes, he could quite easily mope the day away and there's nothing anyone else could do about it. The only reason he's out is because this cake thing has been booked for months, located in one of the fanciest, most expensive bakeries James has ever heard of. "And why did you choose me for this anyway?" he asks, glad that the conversation is veering off somewhere he likes. Food. "What about Sharon or Maria? Isn't this their job?"

"No," Natasha replies and James can almost hear her rolling her eyes, " _You're_ my maid of honour; they're bridesmaids, so pretty much everything is your job. I expect a great hen party, just so you know.” Nat pauses but this time James can’t work out what she’s doing. “Plus you're the only one who doesn't care about fitting into a dress at the end of this. There's a lot to try: the main wedding cake, cupcakes, those cute little cake pop things. Everything has to be perfect, because Clint wanted to do the cake but I wouldn’t let him." Natasha pauses and lets out a heavy sigh, obviously begrudgingly saying the next part. "He's in charge of the cars. That's all. He wanted to do the booze but then he went and picked that awful stuff with 0.3% alcohol that smells like the subway."

"M'not a maid of honour..." James sulks, crossing his arms over his chest and nodding, "I'm a man of honour. M'ready to defeat some buns."

"You're ridiculous, James," sighs Nat exasperatedly, before she subtly warns him that no bad jokes will be allowed in the wedding speech that he has to make. Apparently she'll get enough of those from Clint. “Plus, I’m not gonna let you sit alone in your room listening to your sad songs while you have perfectly good friends, and a perfectly delicious boyfriend, who want your attention."

James wouldn't put it past Nat to burst into his place and physically drag him out, so he knew better than to try and get out of going today. "I know I do," James replies, toying with a loose thread on his cardigan before giving it a yank so it snaps free. "Sam doesn't know any of this yet, though. There's never exactly a good time to bring that kind of thing up, you know?"

And Natasha does know. She has her fill of problems and baggage that she thought no one would ever want to hear about, and then she met Clint who would carry her on his shoulders to the top of Everest just so she could see the view. Honestly, James has never known her to be so happy, and content, and at peace with herself, and she deserves it. "Just do it like I did: get drunk and let it all spill out while The Beatles play in the background."

"Uh, no. The Beatles are overrated, for one. I'd prefer my darling Carly Rae, or maybe those guys with that good dance song."

"Get the fuck out my cab," Natasha quips, before she pretends to lean over to open the door and physically shove him out, "Does he know any of it? The accident? Your last relationship? Anything?"

James gives a shrug just as the cab veers off to the left and he scoots into Natasha's side, yet another pain coursing up and down his arm and settling in his elbow. It's constant, really, but it's the kind that's bearable until it absolutely isn't. That's when he cracks open bottle number eight and sleeps for the next day. "He's- he's asked about my arm," James answers as he straightens up, figuring that they can't be too far away from the bakery, "But I haven't told him. And there hasn't exactly been a good time to bring up the fact that my ex was an abusive asshole and almost got me killed." James shrugs again and shakes his head. "Not to mention the fact that there's part of me that's still terrified that it's going to happen again." He gives a sad smile and sighs softly. "Even with Sam." It doesn't matter how gentle and warm Sam is, there's always that part of James' mind that wraps tendrils around him and says don't get too close, don't make mistakes, don't get hurt again.

"Well, that's exactly it, James. You should tell him so that he can help you," Natasha points out, the taxi rolling to a gentle stop so Nat only pauses to hand the driver some cash and a tip, “And so you can leave the past where it belongs.” She's out before James and he simply waits quietly, guessing that he's on the road side of the car and not feeling much like being crushed by a passing SUV. The door opens and a waft of cool air hits him, Nat taking his hand and helping him out gently. "Here's your cane," she says, pushing it into his hand and leading him to the pavement. "You really think you have to do everything alone?"

She asks the question bluntly and James is a little taken aback, the two of them stopping only for Natasha to push open the bakery door. Immediately he's hit with the sweetest smelling pastries and cakes that start to make his mouth water, the scent of vanilla and chocolate rich in the air. "Wow," he comments simply, listening to Natasha rattle on to some girl before the two of them are led through to another room where he's sat (forcibly shoved) into a puffy couch with buttons on the arms. It's only when he's served champagne with fizzy bubbles and a sweet smell that he realises maybe he's underdressed. "I'm gonna make a fool of myself here," he mutters under his breath, before someone is explaining that they're "all frills and no knickers" (whatever that means) in a very posh Buckinghamshire accent. She reminds him of Peggy, actually. In fact, if he didn't know any better he'd say that it is Peggy.

"If you'd like to follow me," the same woman says, and James stands before waiting for Natasha to help him out. Her small hand comes to his arm and leads him forward, muttering that there's a step so he drops down and gives a smile. "We have a wide selection for tasting and have a variety of nut free, dairy free, gluten free, wheat free, and soya free..."

"Fun free as well," James adds on quietly, hearing Natasha snort but he doesn't think the lady heard him. It's not that he doesn't know some people can't eat those things because they make them physically ill, it's just that he's tried dairy free chocolate and thought he was seeing the end. He wouldn't even give that to his worst enemy.

They're led through some place with floors that their shoes squeak against before James is being ushered into another chair, this one soft in the middle with a hard back and no arms. He puts his hand out to find a table and guesses that cake will be coming soon, remaining silent as Natasha is given a script of the different options and flavours and icings available. They even have those little fondant people that can be customised to suit every person.

"No, no, definitely not," James mutters as soon as he takes a bite of the third option they've been given, not caring that this is a fancy place as he grabs a napkin and spits it back out. "Jesus, what were they thinking?" Luckily, the lady from the shop has left them to their own devices so he isn't offending anyone, especially as he shoves the cake tester away and rinses his mouth with the fancy champagne. "Best is still the first." A plain vanilla sponge with vanilla icing sandwiched between it: it's a classic, and it didn't make him gag once!

“She says we can have different flavours for different layers, and that any of ‘em can be made into a cupcake,” Natasha says simply, sitting right next to him and pushing a fork into his hand. “This one is- vanilla sponge with salted caramel buttercream.” There’s the sound of glass scraping on wood but James ignores it in favour for trying his next flavour, the sugary taste hitting his tongue instantly before it’s cut through with a sting of salt that makes the sweetness bearable. “They have compotes too - strawberry, black cherry, blueberry. Oh, they have apricot - you love that, right?”

James nods quickly and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, giving a soft sigh and taking the time to wipe his mouth with another napkin. He shouldn’t be a total slob today, right? “So, uh,” he mumbles as he stretches his hand out and makes a grabby motion for the next plate, hearing Nat chew loudly and give a sound of approval at the delicious salted caramel, “Sam wants me to meet his ma.”

“I thought he asked you to meet her when you had dinner together?” James can hear the confusion in Nat’s voice and knows exactly why, because he’s the one that’s arranged to do it three times and canceled just as many. “You still haven’t?”

“Well, I was going to.” That’s the truth. He’d bought a fancy new sweater and everything (something mother-appropriate), and had big plans to buy Mrs Wilson a nice bunch of flowers from that florist on Graham Avenue, but then the time came and he just…froze. He’d called Sam and told him that he was sick, and then stayed in bed all night listening to those sad songs of his. “Meeting the parents, Nat,” James continues, letting out a puff of air and shaking his head, “That’s, like, that’s _a relationship_.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you asked him for?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, then, what’s the issue?” Natasha asks matter of factly, obviously chewing her way through another piece of cake. “Try this one: coconut sponge, a half white, half dark chocolate buttercream, and coconut filling.”

Another fork is pushed into James’ hand and the smell of coconut wafts up to him before he can get any further, his mouth watering as he bites into it and lets out a satisfied groan. “Uh, the issue is it’s a lot,” he continues, his eyes rolling as he really savours the little bits of desiccated coconut laced into the filling and the richness of chocolate that seems to coat the inside of his entire mouth. “I just- I keep thinking back, you know? It makes me think that maybe I’m not ready. That maybe I’m not okay as I think I am.” James pauses and takes another sip of champagne, momentarily wondering if he should be drinking this much with his medication but it’s never done him any harm before. “Sam…um, Sam doesn’t get why I get tense sometimes, or why I haven’t told him about, um, about my arm or my eyes. You know, the seizures...side effects...any of it.” 

Kind, caring, _gentle_ Sam, who’s never been anything but an absolute gentleman to him. Sam who held him for two hours after a nightmare ( _"Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it? I could make hot cocoa like my mama used to make me..."_ ), and who tells him stupid jokes to make him laugh when his smile so much as falters. Sam who’s put up fancy lights next to his bed so they can help to ground James when he stays over, so he can see the sparkling in the little vision he has, and who’s forcing himself to put everything back in its place just so his boyfriend will know where it is. Sam who bought him the most fragrant flowers from a nice place in the city and carried them home while sneezing the whole way, suffering through a bout of hayfever just because he wanted James to have something nice. Sam who tells him that it’s okay, and that they can go as slow as he needs, and that he just wants to understand.

“I’m scared of how he’ll react,” James admits, tucking into a piece of delicious lemon cake with honey frosting simply to take his mind off things. Hell, eating instead of thinking is how he got to thirty five pounds over his ideal weight and almost busting his belt. God, he should really tell him. “You know, to it all.”

James tells people that it was a car crash. He tells them that he was driving one night and lost control of the car, and the next thing he knew he was being whisked away in a stretcher. He doesn’t tell many that he wasn’t alone, and that his boyfriend had been drunk and loud and _violent_ and had grabbed the wheel in a fit of rage. He doesn't tell them that he can still remember the way they had both been thrown about like rag dolls, and the way his arm had jolted out of the open window as the car crashed onto the side, and how he could feel how his bones crushed, his muscles tore, and his skin ripped against the hard, unforgiving tarmac.

James can still remember every detail. It goes over and over in his head every day when everything gets too quiet, when he forgets to play his music or when he’s alone at work doing things that he doesn’t need to focus on. He’d opened his eyes once everything had stopped burning and his vision seemed to shut off like a candle being blown out, and all he could hear was the sound of screaming, and shouting, and crying, and it was only when he closed his mouth that he realised it had been coming from himself. He’d begged his boyfriend not to go, not to leave him, but he didn’t need to see to know that he had climbed out of the car and was running, the _slap slap slap_ of shoes on concrete ringing through the street as it quietened post-impact. It felt like hours before someone finally came, before a gentle voice had stroked his hair, told him that it was gonna be alright, and that they were going to get him out of there.

He'd suffered through getting extracted from the car, with those big metal jaws and everything, but had passed out not long after that. He'd woken up thirteen days later in New York-Pres with so many injuries that no one was quite sure if he'd pull through or not. His left arm was a mess, his right was broken in three places, along with several internal injuries, a dislocated hip, two fractures in his right leg, a fractured skull, and something in his head that made everything dark. The doctor had tried to explain everything but not very much of it made sense, and to this day it still doesn’t. They’d likened it to when you knock a wire out of something and the signal goes fuzzy, like an old television that doesn't work unless you hold everything _just right_.

“You know, they still say that the whole depression, anxiety, anger thing is because of the injury?” he says to Natasha, moments after explaining that he’s scared he’ll get angry at Sam. It’s a side effect of the brain injury, the doctors say, but James says it’s all a side effect of trying to exist in a world that just doesn’t make much sense anymore. He’s still learning, and he’s still trying. God, he’s trying. “This one’s good,” he mumbles when Nat is quiet for too long, motioning to the delicious chocolate, on chocolate, on chocolate concoction that’s currently filling his tummy.

“Yeah, it is,” Nat agrees, and James can tell it’s automatic. She’s gone that cold, robotic way she does when she’s thinking, or when she’s giving him sad eyes, and he guesses she’s probably doing both right about now. “Sam’s a good guy. He’ll understand everything, if you just tell him. He'll help you.” She pauses and there’s a clink of glass on glass as she pours them out some more fizz, the sound of her taking a sloppy sip ringing through the room before she nudges James and gives a laugh. “How’s the sex, though?” she asks, James immediately giving a snort and shaking his head. She’s trying to distract him, and that’s definitely one way to do it. “That’s the real MVP here, right?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Sure it’s the MVP, but only after Sam’s voice, and Sam’s laugh, and Sam’s arms wrapped around him at night to keep him warm and content. “It’s, uh, god, _unbelievable_.” Now, _that_ is the understatement of the century. James has discovered, after many a night practising, that so long as his jaw isn’t cramping and they don’t have places to be, he’ll go down on Sam until the sun comes up. He’ll eat him out, Sam’s legs on his shoulders and his hands in his hair, until Sam’s screaming his name and coming over his fingers in rhythmic waves. “Wanna know something?” James smirks, before the smile turns into a cheeky grin that makes his cheeks go rosy, “We’ve only done handies and oral so far but he fingered me for about three quarters of an hour the other night and I think I might’ve actually blacked out, _holy shit_.” James tries to ignore the funny feeling that that gives him in his tummy.

“Hell yeah! Congrats on finally getting laid.”

James only gives a fake laugh and rolls his eyes, letting Natasha give him another selection of forks to try: chocolate sponge with minty ganache (too strong), vanilla sponge with fresh strawberries and cream (too plain), carrot cake with standard orange laced frosting and little walnuts (too…coffee morning-like), chocolate sponge with chocolate ganache and creamy peanut butter (James might actually come in his pants), and vanilla sponge with a delicious toffee sauce and caramelised apples in the middle (perfect for an autumn wedding, which Nat’s definitely is not). “There’s just so many,” James complains, leaning back in his chair and actually feeling a little sick. He never thought he’d see the day (no pun intended) where he was fed up of eating cake. “Honestly, I’m not sure.” He hears Natasha let out an exasperated sigh and holds his hand up. “But, if I were you, I’d go for a vanilla sponge because chocolate can be a little heavy, with a light buttercream - maybe coconut or even vanilla. Then you need something fresh like berries to cut through it, because nobody wants something really rich and heavy after dinner, right? One of the compotes would be good, if they can do that.”

“Jeez, sure are specific for someone who doesn’t know what I should go for,” Nat jokes, James rolling his eyes once more and giving her a choice gesture with his left hand. Surprisingly, having two fingers missing doesn't hinder his flipping the bird sign. "Such a gentleman, James."

"I don't need to worry about being a gentleman anymore. Sam likes me just the way I am!" James is almost embarrassed by how good it feels saying that. He's all messy hair and a squishy tummy and an arm that barely passes for just that, but Sam has kissed every inch of him and whispered words that he couldn't make out. So he's learning to love them, too. "I should really thank you for setting me up with him, I guess, even though I was a reluctant partaker..."

"I was only paying you back for introducing me to Clint," Nat says, and James swears his bottom jaw almost clangs off the table.

"He was the medic that pulled me from the wreck and you hit on him in the ER," clarifies James, "It wasn't exactly a grand scheme of mine."

"Still." James lets out a loud laugh and it echoes around the little room, glasses clinging (but not breaking, thank god) and his chair scraping against the wooden floors as he pushes it back. "Ah ah, where are you going? We're not done yet!" The expression on James' face must be more than obvious as Natasha goes on, "We still have cake pops and macarons to try! I'm not leaving until everything's sorted!"

James might actually throw up. He's thinking that all the way through the smaller selection of cakes, cute little sponge balls covered in soft icing that are maybe a little too sweet and crispy macarons that are crunchy on the outside and chewy in the middle, and he's thinking it as he stands up from his chair and brushes crumbs off his shirt. "I can't so much as think about another cake for as long as I live," he mumbles as Natasha lines up by the main bakery counter to pick some pastries. ("Clint will make me sleep on the sofa if I've been here and take him nothing home.")

"I'll remind you of that, you know," Natasha quips before she orders a box of cannolis and a slice of millefeuille. She and James both know that aliens are more likely to rain down on New York from a giant hole in the sky than James is to go without cake for the rest of his life. There are many pleasures in his life, even more now that he's met Sam, and cake is definitely one of them. "You wanna go get a drink or something?" Nat asks, her hand coming to James' arm after she's paid for everything and they're making their way out the little shop, throwing warm goodbyes to Not Peggy over their shoulders.

"Um, no, I'm gonna, ah, I'm gonna go see Sam." The words are out of his mouth before his mind has caught up to the fact that he's decided what he's doing. He nods to reassure himself and lets out a soft sigh, the day turning bitter so the air catches in his throat a little when he breathes in. It’s the right choice; they’ve been together for only a short time, but Sam deserves to know. He _wants_ Sam to know, because Sam makes him feel safe, and Sam makes him feel loved, and Sam makes him believe that things will be okay in the end. As cheesy as it sounds, Sam makes him believe in love again. “I’m gonna talk to him, you know?" He pauses and gives a small smile, Nat leading him across the road safely so he hears the cars whiz past unnervingly. "I guess you were right."

"There's nothing to guess," replies Natasha, not so much as missing a beat before she mumbles for James to step up. (He could be using his cane, it's pretty easy to work, but in the middle of NYC it's almost pointless. He can't help but to wonder how many tourists he's accidentally smacked with it in just two years. "I'm always right." Nat stops walking and seems to turn to face him, James going by the position of her hand and the way her voice sounds when she speaks. "Do you want a ride uptown or are you gonna get a cab?"

"I'll make my own way, don't worry," James grins, moving forward and giving Natasha a big hug so he smells her usual perfume and that strawberry shampoo that she's been using since she was fifteen. "Thanks for today, Nat."

"Hey, you were the best man for the job...plus there's no sad man-moping when you're with me." One soft kiss to his cheek later and a pat on the back and Natasha is climbing into the car, a loud swear coming from her and judging by the sound she just slammed her head into the roof. See, it's not so easy! "Go get him, tiger. Be brave!”

James gives her a small wave and turns when he hears the engine roar into life and quieten as the car moves away, moving his hand for his phone that's nestled in his pocket and opening it up with his thumb print. "Call Sam," he says simply, tucking himself into the edge of the sidewalk and leaning onto the hard, brick wall that meets his back as he waits. There's a small click and as soon as Sam speaks he seems to warm from the inside out, dipping his head and making no effort to hide his smile. "Hey yourself," he answers, his fingers twirling his cane around in small circles as he listens to his boyfriend, "No, we're done now; I'm pretty sure I'm never gonna wanna eat cake again." Sam, _perfect_ Sam, laughs and says exactly the same as his friend. "Yeah, that's what Nat said…”

There's a small commotion on the other end of the line before there's a thud, quietness following it before Sam replies with a laugh that James wants to bottle up and keep for a rainy day. “Hey, can I come over?” James asks quietly, moving away from the wall and starting to try and hail down a cab so he can get to his boyfriend, “Maybe we can have that talk?"

Sam gives a soft sigh over the phone and James hears the smile shine through in his voice as he speaks, "Yeah, baby, of course. I'll be here." There's a small pause before Sam speaks again. "I can't wait to see you, Jamie."

And it's there, standing in the middle of 5th Avenue at just after four on a Tuesday afternoon, that James realises something: he's alive, and he's so _so_ happy to say that.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, if you muddled through reading that then i thank you! if it started writing this part once, i started a thousand times. i had several different plotlines for this little part but just none of them felt right so i ended up with this. i'm still not happy with it and the only reason i'm posting is because if i don't i'm gonna end up deleting it and starting again and i have no interest in going back to square one. i hope it's enjoyable enough for you, but i'm not so proud of this one. :(
> 
> again, i'm already writing the next part ~~and it's going to be cheesy, festive, family-packed dinners with bad christmas sweaters and embarrassing childhood stories. sorry, sam! (it was originally meant to be for thanksgiving but 1. it's way past thanksgiving, 2. i'm not american and don't really know how a typical thanksgiving goes? is it different to any other big meal around the table or nah? and 3. christmas is my favourite and i feel like doing thanksgiving _and_ christmas would be like...too much? so yeah. i'm excited for this one!~~ LIES, IT'S ALL LIES. there is a next part but it's not christmassy because it is no longer christmas and it's just not flowing, you feel me? 
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](http://solsix.tumblr.com/)! :)
> 
> originally posted december 10th 2016.


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